Priscilla Royal - Covenant With Hell

He hurried on, hoping neither priest nor prioress would ask for details he did not want to divulge. After all, they need not know that the nun had chosen to give shelter to Gracia every night after the rape in defiance of Father Vincent’s curses. Some of those nights also coincided with the meetings. “Sister Roysia gave her oath to one of the nuns here that she had never broken her vows, even if others condemned her for lewdness. If need be, that nun will confirm that.”

“There is no doubt that Sister Roysia was murdered?” A tear fled down Prioress Ursell’s cheek and was brusquely swept away.

“She was. I believe she learned that the assassin had arrived in this priory and sent for Master Larcher so she might reveal her name. The assassin met her in the tower instead and pushed her to her death.”

“Her?” Father Vincent’s mouth gaped.

“Mistress Emelyne, the woman who also tried to kill Prioress Eleanor, was in the pay of the king’s enemies. She confessed all to Prioress Eleanor before she tried to kill her.”

“A woman!” The prioress gasped.

“Who better to hide her mission?” Thomas looked down at his hands. “She claimed to be a merchant’s widow from Norwich and was part of that band of pilgrims we joined on the way here. Prioress Eleanor found her torn robe in the chambers they shared here. The missing cloth was in Sister Roysia’s hand.” He looked at Ursell, daring her to criticize him for failing to mention he had even seen the fabric. “I have confirmed that the piece matches the hole in the garment.” Since he had not trusted Prioress Ursell to let him have the evidence, he asked the infirmarian to retrieve it for him. It was a favor he would keep secret.

“We harbored a traitor.” Prioress Ursell nervously rubbed her neck. “Even the Church will not protect us from condemnation. King Edward stands in high regard for his service in Outremer.”

“You did so without knowledge, my lady, and it was, after all, your nun who died trying to save his life. Prioress Eleanor herself will swear to your loyalty, proven by Sister Roysia’s death, and beg that King Edward grant you rents or property to make up for the loss of income from the pilgrimage badges. She cannot promise her plea will be successful, but, as you know, her brother enjoys the king’s favor.”

This time tears of relief did pour down her cheeks. “You and your prioress are compassionate beyond measure, Brother.” Then she turned to Father Vincent. “As for you, I shall inform the bishop of how you betrayed your calling, tried to cast shame on this priory, and how you lied to me while robing yourself in holy merit. The relic will be sold for the benefit of the poor.” She shuddered. “I would not allow one morsel of food bought with the proceeds to touch the lips of any of my nuns. It would pollute their souls.” She rose. “Plead for mercy, priest, for I now cast you from my sight and will beg for a praiseworthy man to replace you. May you be thrown into a dark prison for the remaining of your miserable…”

But Thomas did not stay to hear all her curses, and escaped while she was still uttering them. He had a child to tend and a wounded prioress to comfort. The less he saw of this pair, the better, although he admitted that he had found a small redeeming aspect to the dour Prioress Ursell.

Durant turned away from the window of his room at the inn and smiled at the monk standing at the open door. Gesturing to the table, he said, “I ordered food, Brother, with the hope you would join me.”

“That is a feast.” Thomas sniffed the air, pungent with herb-rubbed and roasted fowl. An abundance of steaming root vegetables glistened on a small platter. In the middle of the table, a pewter jug sat with two goblets nearby, suggesting a good wine was to be part of the meal.

“I fear my tastes were formed in the markets of Norwich and the vineyards of the Aquitaine, not in the kitchens of a priory.”

Thomas laughed and was happy he could do so. Durant knew his past too well, yet the monk sensed he had nothing to fear from this man, although others surely did. He was also pleased the merchant had summoned him again. “Nor, as you well know, were mine, Master Durant. Yet I am surprised you and your wife were not captivated by the miracles created by Sister Matilda, overseer of our priory’s kitchen, during your stay at Tyndal Priory. Her version of monastic simplicity does not lack earthly delight.”

An ill-defined expression passed quickly over the wine merchant’s face, then he nodded. “I do recall the meals there. They were remarkable. Sadly, my opinion was skewed because ale was served, not wine, and I am better acquainted with the grape.”

Thomas grinned. “The ale is a local marvel. Had you stayed longer, you might have learned to prefer it.”

With a laugh, Durant bowed. “Please sit and let me pour some of this wine. The innkeeper is well-stocked with items that satisfy all tastes, and today is a feast day. I find his wine very pleasing.” Durant poured a deep ruby liquid into each cup and handed one to the monk.

Thomas raised his. “To the King of Heaven and the king of England.”

“Well said, Brother.”

And the two raised their goblets to the respective lords.

After Durant had insisted on serving the monk, then himself, the two men sat and ate in a silence that both found comfortable. Occasionally, one nodded in appreciation of the cook’s skill with bird or turnip, but they savored the offerings as men of taste might.

Refusing another helping, Thomas sat back and sipped his wine. “To what do I owe this invitation? Do not think me ungrateful, but I have served as you do, only for a different master, and know there are reasons for everything.”

“You are both correct and in error. I do have a reason, but I also missed your company.” The merchant blushed.

Thomas raised an eyebrow, then felt foolish. He saw vulnerability flicker in the man’s eyes, a betrayal of weakness he had not expected. “I am glad you did,” he said gently. “Not many knowing of my imprisonment and ancestry would be so kind.”

Durant looked away. “The rank of your sire puts you far above me.”

“And that of my mother places me far below.” The monk waited a moment. “Shall we agree that their union and the lack of God’s blessing on their bed places me somewhere in the middle of God’s greatest creation?”

“Still, I see your kin reflected in your eyes.”

Instinctively, Thomas shut them. “I may be a changeling for all you know and own no kinship with those you mention.” He reached out a hand. “Shall we agree that I am simply Brother Thomas of Tyndal Priory and due honor only as I best serve God?”

Durant took the offered hand. “You should have served the king. Did you take vows out of profound conviction?”

Thomas did not pull his hand away, finding comfort in the man’s touch. “I did not, but I discovered a home and true calling at Tyndal Priory. Prioress Eleanor is a wise leader, and I am happy in her service.”

“God has given you peace?”

“He granted me what may be the greater gift, that of patience.” Thomas realized that the merchant had withdrawn his hand. Looking up, he noticed that Durant’s eyes seemed to have changed color from green to a soft brown. “Peace comes from a purer faith than I own.”

The merchant sipped at his wine, as if considering a new aspect of it, and then nodded. “How does Prioress Eleanor?”

“Her arm was broken, but the infirmarian at Ryehill is skilled. She said the break was an easy one to set, and there is no sign of corruption in the flesh of the outer wounds.”

“You sound surprised to learn that the nun here is competent.” Durant chuckled.